


heartquakes

by lililiyabbay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Ambiguous Relationships, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lililiyabbay/pseuds/lililiyabbay
Summary: While in people’s eyes Bokuto had dimmed right after his notable rise in the Olympics, he never ceased to be a star in Akaashi’s eyes. And that is why Akaashi is steadfast with the belief that Bokuto will shine, regardless of where life takes him after it took his power.(OR, Bokuto suffered injuries after Olympics and his career as a volleyball player went down the drain. Akaashi is with him every step of the way.)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Kudos: 14





	heartquakes

**Author's Note:**

> written for bokuaka week 2020 day 3! the prompt is future. for context, bokuto is 29 and akaashi is 28. this was supposed to be a lighthearted piece but my brain @ me: we are not doing that. nonetheless, please enjoy!

The call came when Akaashi was in the middle of attempting to rip his hair out of his scalp. It brings another shock to Akaashi’s already heavy slew of responsibilities (burdens).

Not an entire minute passed when he was already out of his seat. Then the room, the floor, and before long he couldn’t see the building from the cab’s rear-view mirror anymore. HR would get to him later. They would always offer him leniency, what with his flawless record. His pristine reputation in the office will save him.

Now he’s anxiously pacing in a hallway that belongs to one of the places that must be cursed by every higher being in the universe — the hospital. Its sterile smell brings nothing short of a malediction to Akaashi. Everyone is either in a hurry or at a stilted pace due to whatever landed them here in the first place.

In front of him stands a closed door that has remained that way for the past twenty minutes he has waited. The glaring black text on the white door taunts him. PHYSIOTHERAPY, it says. Admittedly, this stopped being an unfamiliar view since nearly three years ago. It instills frozen fear in him nonetheless.

Another five minutes that feels like an hour passes before the daunting door opens.

“Ah, Akaashi-san,” the man pausing in the doorway says, seemingly both surprised and unsurprised at Akaashi’s appearance. By now, he already knows what Akaashi is here for. “He is inside.”

“Thank you.” Akaashi nods at him, slipping past the spectacled, graying man into the room.

Even the interior of this room, too, is not foreign. It's considerably spacious, but Akaashi never fails to think of it as anything but stifling. There is someone lying on the bed in the corner, and as like the rest of this hospital, he is not unfamiliar too.

Akaashi is quiet when he makes his way to the bedside, quiet when bright eyes fall on him, quiet when he plops down on the plastic seat. His breathing is almost mechanical, regulated to avoid himself breaking. There is always enough oxygen in the world to supply him with, he tells himself.

His voice is quiet when he speaks. “What is it this time?”

Bokuto has the gall to look sheepish, a breathy chuckle escaping him to Akaashi’s chagrin. “Sorry, Akaashi,” he says, rather unapologetic.

They both jump when the door is pushed open, loud and harried, before followed by a familiar shout. “Akaashi!” Konoha yells, stepping into view when he stomps up to Akaashi’s side. His voice is still as frazzled as it sounded earlier during the call. “Look at this dumbass! Pushing himself, and for what? If it weren’t for Kaminari, he would’ve tried to get here on his own. Like he didn’t just make his injuries flare up again.”

The rest of Konoha’s rant is muted into static, possible through the habit of tuning him out for years. Akaashi slowly inhales, fixing his glasses while turning back towards Bokuto. 

“How are you feeling, Bokuto-san?”

It’s obvious that Bokuto detests the way Akaashi refers to him, remembering they’ve known each other for over ten years, but Akaashi holds onto it both for the use of it as a weapon against Bokuto, and as anchor for himself so he does not forget where he stands. Bokuto’s expression sours. “Koutarou,” he corrects Akaashi, “or I’m not answering.”

“Kou-chan,” Konoha takes over instead, pitching his voice high on purpose. “How is your pain? Should we get you some candy?”

Were this a decade ago, Akaashi can predict exactly how this would play out. Bokuto will react in his black or white kind of way. But they aren’t teenagers anymore, and as much as they’ve grown close to each other, the years also barred them with undiscovered knowledge about each other. Instead, Bokuto humors Konoha, voice childlike, “It hurts even more when you’re the one asking me that, Mr. Nurse. Won’t your friend give me some candy?”

This is a show of reassurance for Akaashi, this much he is aware. For Bokuto to be cool-headed enough to handle Konoha’s teasing, then he’s not in that big of a pain. Strength and stability now radiate from Bokuto, despite the swelling of his knee and the redness around his shoulder.

But where years have sculpted Bokuto a shield, they wore Akaashi down.

Akaashi still does not cry much, but that’s only because crying does nothing for him. It doesn’t ease up the shrunken feeling in his gut, does not sweeten the bitterness at the back of his tongue. And right now, he doesn’t cry either. He simply says, “this is annoying,” with his voice as steady as ever, while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

However, it’s more than Akaashi usually displays when he’s distraught. Konoha and especially Bokuto know that Akaashi does not complain much. Akaashi finds the solution directly, how to work around a problem. Rarely does Akaashi express his frustration, yet Bokuto finds new ways to achieve that.

Bokuto drops his coy facade immediately, dragging his body up into sitting. His brows are lowered, upset that he’s made Akaashi upset.

“I’m sorry,” he says. This time he does sound genuinely remorseful.

Akaashi looks up to meet Bokuto’s eyes, knowing full well that his own aren’t still as water and probably fiery instead, but he really can’t stand it this time.

“Am I the one injured?” If there is one thing Akaashi is most proud of, it’s the control over his composure. “Why do you feel sorry for me?”

He has always known that Bokuto is restless and reckless, but this is the second time in a month that Bokuto’s condition warrants an emergency visit. He’s been promised that the emergency visit will only be once a month at worst. And it was a promise made because it has been almost three years, because Akaashi wants to see Bokuto’s full recovery.

Bokuto draws back his gaze from Akaashi, opting to look back down at his thighs. Good. There is no better time to reflect than now.

The past two years have been an upward curve, after the abysmal period of time where Bokuto got injured and had to cope with its impact on his life. Akaashi did his best to be around, to be there and to be present, but he was faced by rejection time and time again. It was the most useless he’d ever felt, but he used up all his persistence then. And it ended up with Bokuto warming up to life again, to Akaashi, to Bokuto’s mother hugging him and cupping his face, saying, “ _I knew you knew Koutarou the best. I believed that you could get him back up again._ ”

While in people’s eyes Bokuto had dimmed right after his notable rise in the Olympics, he never ceased to be a star in Akaashi’s eyes. And that is why Akaashi is steadfast with the belief that Bokuto will shine, regardless of where life takes him after it took his power.

:::

Konoha leaves as soon as Bokuto is dismissed by the physical therapist. The last thing imparted to Bokuto is the same as what he has been told the past years: rest, recuperate, come here only for your scheduled appointments. Just like Akaashi, the man in charge of Bokuto’s physical recovery has gotten exasperated.

“Your injuries are common, but you’re not going to get significantly better if you don’t know your current limits,” he’d said. Bokuto listened, looking engrossed like it was the first time he was hearing this. “Right before you fully recover, you push yourself past what your body can handle. And it might feel like you can handle it, you feel strong enough, but your own mind is full of deceit. So, please,” Akaashi eyed the middle-aged man gripping Bokuto’s wrist, “make this the last time you barge in this room with your old injuries inflamed. At this point, you’re supposed to come here only for occasional check-ups. You could’ve been long since recovered.”

As a means of cheering Bokuto up, Akaashi finds himself in a fast food restaurant and eating breakfast menu at four in the afternoon. He notices how Bokuto absently rubs over the splints, like it’s a distant memory. A habit. Seeing it happen has become one for Akaashi as well.

He gets the rest of the day off after a persuasive call with someone from HR, promising he’d work from home and get his tasks done by tonight. It will be inconvenient, but it’s necessary. If he gets to be with Bokuto even a moment longer, then he doesn’t mind.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, upper lip stained with milkshake, “how come you never call me Koutarou? You already know I wouldn’t take offense.”

And that’s true. Bokuto’s attempt at making Akaashi refer to him in a more familiar way started years ago. High school was scary, and Akaashi was never a fan of how fast word spread, which was an excuse. But once they got older and found out they were both too stubborn to leave each other’s lives, Bokuto began to question why Akaashi never dropped his courtesy.

“You never call me Keiji, either,” Akaashi replies. It positively stuns Bokuto into silence, exactly like he expected.

A few blinks later, comes Bokuto’s mumbled response. “Do you,” he stammers, “want me to?”

In retrospect, Akaashi knows how stupid this is. They are almost thirty now, yet they’re on a non-date in a fast food chain while being nervous and blushy over going on a first name basis. He probably shouldn’t have baited Bokuto. But again, he can’t deny himself the pleasure of this brief innocence.

Akaashi shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

Later, at Bokuto’s insistence, Akaashi lingers in his apartment. It’s surprising how good Bokuto has gotten in having things his way, because initially Akaashi was supposed to only drop him off and leave.

This skill rears its head again when Akaashi weaves through articles and letters to edit, Bokuto wanting to prop his upper body with Akaashi as support. Too busy to afford being distracted, Akaashi lets strong arms wrap around his torso, lets the solid frame envelope him as he types away, lets a chin nestle on his shoulder. Even after he’s done and the sky has gotten darker and his laptop lid is closed, the warmth hugging him doesn’t leave.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmurs, surprisingly awake. Akaashi had assumed he fell asleep while watching him work. “Are you still upset at me?”

Something deflates inside Akaashi, turning his entire body pliant. He hasn’t realized there were still bouts of anger from earlier. “I was never upset at you, Bokuto-san.”

Like it would somehow appease Akaashi, Bokuto starts to rub the side of his face against Akaashi’s shoulder. Bony shoulder. He must be insane. “I missed doing crosses and I have this amazing student to toss for me after practice, I couldn’t help it.” The weight on his shoulder is gone. Akaashi takes it upon himself to turn around and look Bokuto in the eyes. “You’re right, Akaashi. I should be kinder to myself. It’s hard for me to be satisfied, as you know very well.”

Akaashi does know it very well. Not only because it’s Bokuto’s trait to be greedy, but because he feels it. It’s hunger even more pronounced than Bokuto’s, probably, like Akaashi could swallow this moment and every single other one of him with Bokuto, this apartment and this building and this city containing the two of them, and he’d still not be satiated.

And Akaashi is glad, so glad, that Bokuto is coming to terms with what he has now. That things are never going to be the same as it used to be but that it doesn’t mean that it’s now worse. And being himself, Akaashi is tireless of telling and showing Bokuto that truth. After all, Akaashi is here and will always be.

The thought is emboldening, so Akaashi takes the last push for himself and kisses Bokuto.

They exist in the living room of Bokuto’s tiny apartment in crowded Tokyo, but they’re alone. The space is infinite and it feels that way, and Akaashi wants nothing else and no one else. When they part, the desire to devour painfully beats inside Akaashi, but Bokuto’s eyes molded from gold sooth it.

“Keiji,” Bokuto utters, glistening lips forming the syllables. “If you don’t stay the night, it will be my turn to be upset with you.”

“I will,” Akaashi breathes a laugh against Bokuto’s lips. He leans in again. “Koutarou.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a rush with no preparation so this was posted really late. thank u for reading & hope u enjoyed this!
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/plutoruled) and check out my [kofi](https://ko-fi.com/moonpluto) if u would like to support me :]


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